


Helianthus

by Sybariticfanfiction (SybariticReyna)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coming Out, Dysphoria, Fluff, Gen, Love That Cliche Goddamn, Mild Hurt/Lots of Comfort, Minor Injuries, Modern Character in Thedas, Reader Is Not A Girl, Trans Character, from a dragon not violence, i have a lot of feelings abt Cole and being trans, nb reader specifically, plus Krem & sorta implied trans Cole, uhhhhh a little Misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SybariticReyna/pseuds/Sybariticfanfiction
Summary: Cole is a sweetheart and the Charger's are too





	Helianthus

It wasn’t an issue before Cole and his stupidly wonderful ability to know what upsets you. It _sucked_ but it wasn’t something you’d ever consider _fixing_ , not with how everyone already looks at you when you say the wrong thing or get excited and let your accent be a little too thick. You’re different, and not in the special and wonderful way Lavellan is.   
  
So correcting it when people call you a lady isn’t really high on your priority list, even as those in Haven get used to your presence. Even as you ascend to the position of Inquisitor's “Right Hand Lady,” and you feel sick whenever someone addresses you as such. They say it with such reverence, as if it's an honor bestowed upon you by the Maker himself and the guilt for not receiving it graciously gnaws on you. You _should_ be happy.   
  
But you’re not a lady, and that knowledge gets tucked away with all the other things that make your new life in Thedas unhappy, in the back of your mind where you refuse to look. Homesickness? Not today. Being hopelessly out of your depth? No, we’ve fuckin got this.   
  
Dysphoria?   
  
Well…   
  
Maybe today.   
  
Lavellan is gone on a mission, taking Vivienne, Cole, and Blackwall with her. You wanted to tag along too, as per usual, but your injury from the last dragonslaying excursion to the Hinterlands is “not healed enough”. You disagree, but her word still trumps yours.   
  
The combination of lacking a distraction and having to change the bandages by yourself make for a Bad Time.   
  
It’s easier to brush it off when there’s people around and its _social_ dysphoria. It's much harder when you’re alone and you look _wrong,_ but it's not the stitches in your abdomen that make you feel that way.   
  
You redo your dressings in record time (and Stitches would be _affronted_ by how messily do you so). _Done._ No more mirror time to remind you of how girly you are.   
  
So why are your hands still shaking?  
  
You planned on returning to the library after fixing the bandages, but the thought of anyone addressing you as Lady makes you want to cry. No. Nope. Not right now.   
  
Seems like shoving down your emotions is biting you in the ass.   
  
You pull the blankets off the bed, curling them around yourself as you settle onto the floor. This is fine. Lavellan isn’t here and no one is expecting you and its _fine_ to have a fuckin moment to cry by yourself.   
  
Except it's not, because you know this won’t _fix anything._ You’ll pull yourself back together and everyone will still call you Lady and use she/her and the only one who’ll realize something is amiss is the spirit boy (and not even he knows _what_ is amiss. You’re careful).   
  
_Fuck.  
  
_ You scrub at your eyes and pull the blankets tighter. Tomorrow you’ll be okay. You’ll be back to your old self in time to greet Lav and everything will be okay. You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders. Nothing will be out of place and--   
  
Bright blue eyes meet your gaze, their owner crouched in front of you and your depression nest.   
  
“JESUS FU-- _COLE!_ ” Your attempt to scramble backwards is met with tangled limbs. Your elbow is kept pain free even as you bang it against the stone flooring by the blanket, but your fluffy hell does nothing to prevent the stabbing pain in your abdomen. _Sudden movements… right_.   
  
Cole tilts his head, and you get the distinct feeling he’s listening to your hurts rather than the shocked yelling.   
  
You exhale. “Cole.”   
  
His lips twitch into one of his mini smiles (not maliciously, but presumably because he’s finally got it figured out and that makes him happy), “You’re hurting.”   
  
“I’m-- I’m not great. I’ll be fine though, Cole, I’m sure there’s other people that need your help,” you assure him. Awkwardly, you’ll admit, but it’s the best you can do right now.   
  
He shakes his head, “No. That’s not true. I’ve been trying to figure out your hurts for weeks. They notice you know, when you feel off. It makes everyone else sad too.” Cole has no real sense of personal space, but you’ve long since become accustomed to it (the word you’d use is touch starved, but given the, uh... context, you think mentioning it might be rude). Now, he grabs your shoulders and leans close enough that his hat brushes against your forehead. “Let me help you.”   
  
It’s hard to say no to Cole on a good day. It’s _impossible_ when you’re emotional and his eyes are so wide and hopeful.   
  
“How do you propose you help?” Is your careful reply, unable to maintain eye contact.   
  
“I can’t fix what other people will say,” he admits. “But I can stop accidentally… what’s the word?” He makes a face, presumably trying to dig the phrase out of your head.   
  
“Misgendering,” you supply.   
  
“Misgendering,” he repeats. He focuses back on the present, watching your expression, “I’m not upset. You’re a they and I’m a he. There’s nothing wrong with that.”   
  
It occurs to you that maybe Cole can actually relate better than most, considering that at least a part of him was originally a genderless spirit.   
  
He picks up on that train of thought, interrupting, “It’s not like you. The… the Compassion part of me wasn’t anything like that, but Cole was. I’m both?” He shrugs after a moment, giving up on finding the words for his rather unique situation.   
  
“Are you okay with being called a guy then?” You ask, unable to help yourself. Solas calls him a young man sometimes, so you figure he’s cool with it, but it never hurts to check in.   
  
“That’s fine. I don’t mind.” He smiles again (and you quietly marvel at the sight, wondering if he realizes he’s sunshine incarnate). “What are you ‘okay’ with being called?”   
  
“Uh. Anything that’s not really gendered?” you shift, trying to resist the urge to clam up. It’s one part exhilarating, one part relieving, and one part _fucking terrifying_ to be open about it. To essentially come out to him.   
  
Cole nods. “What about compliments? Is it okay that the Iron Bull calls you pretty?”   
  
You bark a laugh. “Yeah, that's fine. What would you do if it weren’t?”   
  
Cole very rarely _looks_ like he knows something you don’t, even though you know he usually does. But in that moment you can only describe him as haughty. “Iron Bull is very understanding. You should tell him and the Chargers first.”   
  
Now that’s an interesting proposal.   
  
You narrow your eyes. “You know something.”   
  
“Yes,” he confirms simply. “We can go later, if you want. Together.”   
  
The idea fills you with trepidation, but you trust Cole. It’ll be okay if he’s there.  
  
“Not right now?” You finally ask.   
  
“No. You should rest, and I have to fix your bandages,” he glances down at your shirt-- your _bloodstained_ shirt. Fuck.  
  
“Dammit.” It really is a testament to how distracted you were by the subject matter that you didn’t notice you reopened the wound. Did you pop a stitch too? You let Cole help you up, half out of guilt.   
  
“I didn’t notice either.” He offers. “Lay down.”   
  
“Thanks for… everything, by the way.” You say as you settle down. The bare bed is pretty uncomfy, but you’ve really only got one person to blame for that bullshit. Then again, you doubt even the best Orleasian blankets could make what’s to come comfortable.   
  
“We’re friends,” he says, as if that settles everything.   
  
Cole cleans your wound and rewraps your bandages as gently as possible, filling the silence by distracting you with chatter. He confirms he _was_ supposed to go with Lavellan today, but that he traded rogue spots with Varric at the last minute because he felt something _off._ He and Varric are thick as thieves, so it doesn’t surprise you that he was willing to fill in.   
  
“I should tell him after Bull,” you say quietly. “He’ll understand, right?”   
  
Cole nods. “I… I think all nine of them will. The advisors too.”   
  
You’re not sure why your stupid traitorous eyes decide _now_ is the time to cry, but they do. You try not to move too much as you wipe your eyes, apologizing, “Sorry, I just…”   
  
“You're not silly,” Cole says before you can even finish that sentence.   
  
You need to sit up to let him wrap the Thedas equivalent of an ace bandage around the gauze, but it’s not too unbearable. Cole is more careful than most medics you’ve been treated by (with exceptions for the mages, but using magic is rather unfair you think).    
  
“Can we take a nap first? Before I go tell Bull and the guys?” you ask quietly.   
  
Cole’s smiles are soft and much too rare. He makes you change into a clean undershirt while he sets up the bed again. You do your best to scrub out the bloodstain before it sets too, figuring that way you might not have to throw it out. Everytime you order clothes, someone inevitably says something about purchasing _more feminine_ attire. They let you get away with neutral armor usually, but the _dresses._ Oh, the dresses.   
  
By the time you finish, Cole is already in bed, his hat set on the side table. You think, if it were literally _anyone_ else, you’d be too embarrassed to move, let alone cuddle up to him, but he’s __Cole.   
  
Cole, who is sweet and mindful and sometimes rather oblivious and so down for platonic cuddles. His not quite human temperature is certainly something you have to get used to though. And his talking. Cole is quiet, but only in a decibels sorta way. He likes talking, as long as the person he’s talking to is interested. In your case, it’s a matter of enjoying the sound of his voice as you fall asleep. Being without white noise makes it harder for you, and the thick castle walls do you no favors most days. Rooming with Lavellan helps, but days she’s gone or with her girlfriend are rough.   
  
Cole says something about Leliana’s sleeping habits as you mull that over, but you’re too tired to comprehend the words. Maybe you’ll ask him after you wake up. Maybe you’ll just ask Leliana.   
  
Cole probably continues whatever train of thought he’s on, but you’re gone by the time he starts the next sentence.   
  


* * *

  
  
Waking up is a blurry affair. While you guess it wouldn’t count as a depression nap, seeing as Cole put an end to that (well, partially, because a person can’t actually cure the chemical bits), it certainly _feels_ post depression nap esque. At least this time you don’t wake up bewildered and _alone_.   
  
Cole laughs when you trip out of bed and you flick him off over your shoulder. Your other hand returns to your bandages, as if pressing them will make the ache go away. It does at least provide a sense of security.   
  
You throw on some more weather and/or tavern appropriate clothing, reluctantly letting Cole help you with the buttons even if doing them yourself makes your wound hurt (something about how you have to move your arms and the positioning of the injury is just Bad). Once again, if it were anyone but Cole… Not a fuckin chance.   
  
Cole offers you his hand as the two of you leave The Inquisitor’s Suite, and doesn’t seem to mind that your answering grip is tight enough to turn both your and his knuckles ashen. You’ve come out to people before, and yet there’s always that feeling of rawness. Always like if you misstep you could lose much more than you’re willing to. More than just friends, even.   
  
“They won’t hurt you.” Cole says, low and comforting. _I won’t let them,_ is silent, but you catch it nonetheless. Sometimes you wonder if Varric has rubbed off on him a little _too much_. Although another Varric could hardly be a bad thing. He taught you how to play and all the dope strats for wicked grace after all (in return you explained the term dope strats, which he seems to find endlessly amusing).   
  
You take the route with the least likelihood to run into anyone else, grateful that most of the inner areas of Skyhold are all connected. Its _much_ larger than you expected it to be, but still not quite city sized. Then again your idea of a proper city is probably larger than anything anyone in Thedas has _ever_ seen. You sometimes wish you had a connection to the fade, if only to share your memories of skyscrapers and cars and technology.   
  
(There are sketches strewn across the desk you share with Lavellan, and sometimes she looks them over with an expression caught between horror and awe. You can only imagine what her reaction would be to a photo)   
  
You’re jittery and trembling again when you finally reach the tavern, the patrons downstairs talking animatedly. It would set you at ease usually, but now it simply reminds you how many people are here, how many could overhear, how many--   
  
Cole bonks you with the edge of his hat, shocking you out of your panic. “Everything will be fine. Ask for Bull and Krem if everyone is too much.”   
  
“Stitches too maybe?” He’ll want to look over your… stitches. You roll your eyes. Why they had to copy the qunari custom of naming themselves after their jobs you’ll never know.   
  
Cole allows you to pull him to the banister. You lean over it, scanning the patrons until you find Iron Bull and his crew. “Hey, Bull!” You wave too, just in case.   
  
Bull is usually careful about how quickly he moves his head, seeing as if he’s too fast someone might get whomped, but he slips up when he’s surprised. Thankfully Dalish is short enough that she isn’t smashed in the face with a horn.   
  
“You, Krem, and Stitches, come ‘ere.” You call, motioning to the stairs.   
  
Bull smiles his agreement rather than shout back, and you pull away from the banister to find a chair. Most people are downstairs (and no ones in the attic seeing as Cole’s still by your side), so you easily get a table with enough room for the… five of you. Oof. You didn’t even realize how many people are going to be present for this.   
  
You wonder if your hold on Cole’s hand can get any tighter, and why he really doesn’t seem to notice. He simply sits down next to you, claiming one of the chairs while you perch on the table itself. Causal. Gotta be _casual_ about this.   
  
Krem and Bull are smiling when they come up the stairs, while Stitches looks torn between concern and annoyance.   
  
Krem is the first to speak, teasing, “What’d you do that ya had to get the big guy?”  
  
“Uh. What?”   
  
“You’re not dying, right?” Bull asks, glancing down at your abdomen. As if he’s got special Ben Hassrath xray vision or something.   
  
“No. I mean. I did technically pop a stitch and I’d appreciate if Stitches could take a look but I…” You make a vague gesture to Cole as you try to find the right words.   
  
“They popped two stitches actually.” Cole says.   
  
_They._  
  
The anxiety knotted in your chest eases a bit.   
  
Bull and Krem exchange Meaningful Looks, while Stitches digs in his pack for his mini kit and complains, “What were you doing? I set that two days ago.”   
  
“I tripped. Like. Really bad. Y’all know I’m a fuckin klutz.” That’s easier than explaining Cole startled you out of your nest of dysphoria.   
  
“So what’re we and the kid here for?” Bull asks, his voice less… gruff than usual. Him knowing _something_ is up isn’t surprising, but the decision to handle you gently is. Usually he prefers the “rile people until they spit out the truth” approach.   
  
“I… I’m trans. Which is like. Not agreeing with your assigned gender. I don’t know if Thedas has an equivalent but basically I’m non-binary so I’m not a lady or a guy or like. Anything,” you alternate betweening halting pauses and rushing your words together, trying to get everything out in the open before anyone can respond.   
  
You curl your free hand into a fist, watching it tremble. “Sor--”   
  
Krem cuts your apology off by yanking you into a hug that leaves you breathless (mostly from pain, but, hey). He says something in Tevinter, either too excited to use common or completely forgetting you have no knowledge of that language. Bull laughs though, so you assume it’s a good thing.   
  
“Hey, hey, move, I want a hug too.” Bull tries to cut in between the two of you, only for Krem to smack his arm. The Iron Bull isn’t really one to give up because someone whacked him though, and you’re only a little surprised when you find yourself _and_ Krem wrapped in a bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground.    
  
“Put h--” Stitches pauses, resting his hand on your shoulder. “What’re your pronouns then? You still a her?”   
  
“They/them,” you supply happily.   
  
“Put _them_ down, boss. Least until I check their wounds. Andraste’s tits, have some sense.” He’s only halfway annoyed by Bull’s over excitement.   
  
“Oh, they’ll be fine. If anything you’ll get a cool scar.” Bull grins at you.   
  
“I do love cool scars,” you agree as Bull sets you down anyway. “I, uh. I thought this would be a lot more confusing for you guys. Like don’t get me wrong I’m relieved but--”   
  
“Kremsicle is like you too,” Bull says.   
  
The man in question makes a face at the sound of his latest nickname, but is quick to add, “Yeah, I’m… whatever that word was. Born a girl; actually a man.”   
  
“Oh.” Cole didn’t mention _that._  
  
“Oh?”   
  
“Oh, like a good thing! Just surprising!” You assure him. “I thought I’d be like. Completely alone, having to explain the whole concept to everyone.” This actually takes away a lot of your worries.   
  
“You might have to explain it to people outside the crew but yeah.” He smiles. “You look spooked when you came here. Guess you figured we’d be shitty about it?”   
  
“I was sorta scared of that, yeah. You guys are important to me. The whole Inquisition is.” Somehow, the admission makes you feel more vulnerable than spitting out the fact that you’re non-binary.   
  
“Aww,” Bull mocks, nudging you with his elbow. “You love us.” Despite the teasing, he’s still smiling like you’ve done something good.  
  
“Fuck off,” you say without any real heat.   
  
If anything that makes him even more smug. Bastard. You’re caught between keeping up your mock annoyance and smiling in return.   
  
Stitches’ overly dramatic sigh reminds you he’s also still here, and that your side really does hurt still. You pat Bull’s hand, silently asking for him to release you. He gets the message, although he leans over to not-quite-kiss your forehead before doing so. The gesture is as sweet as it is startling.   
  
_Huh._  
  
Krem tries to smother his laugh with his hand, while Bull purposely avoids your starstruck gaze.   
  
“So can I get to work then or?” Stitches asks.   
  
“Oh, yeah, thanks!” You should be a little more embarrassed by yanking your shirt up in a bar, but with the three of them it’s debatable whether or not any other patrons can see you. And its a _bar._ Shirtlessness isn’t exactly uncommon some days (ahem, Cullen).   
  
You explain a little more in detail as Stitches redoes what you _accidentally_ fucked up, and they listen better than you expected. Krem seems to have the most questions, and you’re happy to talk gender with him. Feeling like you’re a man versus feeling like you’re not quite either are two very different experiences after all. Some things you can relate to though, and he says he’ll be happy to share all his trans Thedas secrets.   
  
Bull doesn’t have much to offer on that front, but he does say that this is deserving of a round of drinks and offers to carry your injured self down to the bar. You accept only because he also agrees to let you up on his shoulders next time you travel together and there’s no worries about hitting the ceiling.   
  
Hell Yes.   
  
It’s not until you’re all done that you notice Cole disappeared somewhere along the line, probably to go help someone else. You don’t worry about it much. He’ll come back. You have to thank him again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Helianthus is the genus of sunflowers (and from the family Asteraceae & Order Astereles which is where my Lavellan's name comes from although they're not the Lav mentioned in this fic) bc Cole is a sunflower u know,,, sunshine boy 
> 
> anyways i'm a nb lesbab and i've been feeling Bad so i wrote this self indulgent nonsense but I do hope you've enjoyed it too!!


End file.
